Anvil (18 page)

The pilot
came in low and fast.  We streaked over the heads of a sea of infected, our
speed making the writhing bodies blur together in our night vision.  A
second Black Hawk carrying a fuel bladder of diesel for the generators was two
miles behind us.  Our pilot would flare into a hover a couple of feet over
the rooftop helipad at the RWA building and we’d all pile out and he’d be back
in motion instantly.

We would
have just enough time to make sure the roof was clear of threats and form a
perimeter before the second helicopter arrived.  This one would actually
land, the crew unloading the fuel, some hoses and other equipment while my team
provided security.  Assuming everything went according to plan, we’d be
pulling lines and getting the generators operating within minutes of setting
foot on the roof.

Unless we
had a problem, like the generators had sucked their tanks dry and wouldn’t
start because there was air in the lines.  Or if they were damaged. 
Or any of a dozen other things that could go wrong.  I was hoping Mr.
Murphy of Murphy’s Law fame wasn’t along for the ride, but the sadistic fucker
was probably already planning how to screw with my night.

“One
minute,” the pilot called over the intercom.

Dutch and I
were wearing headsets and he looked around the noisy cabin and shouted the
message to the team, holding his index finger straight up in the air. 
Both side doors were open, cold air flowing in and swirling through the
aircraft.  I was glad for the layers of fabric protecting me, surprised
that Chico was only wearing a sleeveless shirt and battle vest on his upper
body.

I checked on
Lieutenant Edwards.  He looked like he was about to throw up.  But I
had to give him credit.  He was stacked tight against Drago, ready to go
out the door the moment he was told.  For a cyber-dwelling nerd, he was
showing some intestinal fortitude.

“Thirty
seconds,” the pilot called another warning.

Pulling my
headset off I hung it on a hook, high on the bulkhead.  Dutch’s joined
mine a moment later.  I moved to the door on the right side of the helo as
Dutch moved to the left.  Chico, Drago and Edwards would follow me out,
Dutch and TJ going the other way.

Looking down
I marveled at the sheer number of infected covering the ground.  Well, I
had to assume there was ground beneath their feet.  There were so many of
them, pressed so tightly together, I couldn’t see anything other than raging
faces looking up at the noise of our passage. 

A fence
flashed beneath us and I was surprised and encouraged to note it was still
standing.  We were over one of RWA’s massive parking lots, and for the
moment at least it was empty of infected.  They hadn’t had a reason to
push against the fence and knock it down, yet, I realized as the helicopter
suddenly flared to bleed off speed.

With the
Black Hawk’s nose up and tail down, the pilot brought us over the edge of the
roof and transitioned to a hover.  The helipad, painted white with a
large, blue “H” in the middle, was right beneath us.

I jumped,
dashing ten feet forward as soon as my boots touched the roof.  My rifle
was up as I dropped to a knee and began scanning for threats.

“Dog one,
down and clear,” I called over the radio.

“Two, down
and clear,” Dutch answered a moment later.

The other two
team members quickly responded with an all clear, the rotor wash from the
helicopter threatening to blast me across the roof like a piece of trash in a
storm as the pilot gained altitude and sped away.

“Make room
for the gas station,” I said, standing and moving forward.

I was on the
western edge of the roof, overlooking the large parking lot we’d just flown
across.  On the far edge, the infected were piling up against the tall,
chain link fence, drawn by the noise of our ride.  It wouldn’t be long
before it collapsed under their constant pressure. 

I took a
moment to check in with each of the team members over the radio, ensuring the
roof was still clear.  As I did this, Edwards ran to each of the corners
of the helipad and placed IR strobes to help guide the second helicopter. 
Not that the pilot wasn’t capable of landing without them, but every little
visual reference helps when you’re operating at night.

“Dog one, Sam
two-seven,” I heard in my earpiece.

“Go for Dog
one,” I answered the inbound Black Hawk with the fuel on board.

“One minute
from LZ.  Call status.”

“LZ is
green.  Repeat, LZ is green,” I answered, watching in dismay as the
western perimeter fence began to bow inwards under the pressure of thousands of
bodies.

“Sam
two-seven copies LZ is green,” the pilot answered.

By now the
fence was bent inwards at least thirty degrees and only moments from collapsing
completely.  If the infected rushed in before we got to ground level and
started the generators, we had a problem. 

“Sam
one-niner, Dog one,” I called.

“Go ahead,
Dog.”

“Got any
hellfires you can spare?”  I asked, watching two females climb over a
throng of males, up the angled fence and get tangled in the coils of razor wire
lining the top edge.

“Maybe. 
You wanting to throw a party?”

Everyone’s a
fucking comedian, and I’ve always found helicopter pilots are the worst.

“Trying to,
but there’s a whole bunch of party crashers at the fence.  If you could
find something about a klick west of the LZ to spark up it might distract them
long enough for me to kick the party into gear.”

“Copy that, Dog
one.  Sparking up just for you.”

As the pilot
answered he modified his voice and did a pretty good imitation of Cheech Marin
taking a hit off a joint.  I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head as
the fuel carrying Black Hawk came into a hover and set down in the middle of
the helipad.  The crew was out the door in a flash, struggling to get the
heavy bladder onto the roof.

More females
were scrambling over the heads of the males, most getting caught in the wire,
but a couple dropped to the pavement and began sprinting towards the
building.  I fired two shots, both of them tumbling to the ground and
beginning to crawl in their quest to reach the noise of the idling
helicopter. 

I hadn’t
tried head shots as they were still a good distance out, rather had put a
bullet into each of their pelvis’.  This slowed them and I took my time
aiming, drilling first one then the other through the head.  In the time
it took me to do this, four more topped the fence and charged.

Five quick
shots, yes I missed once, put them on the ground.  I was opening my mouth
to update the team over the radio when there were two sequential flashes of
light to the west.  Two hellfire missiles being fired.  A moment
later there was a brilliant flash that lit the night sky and briefly blanked
out my night vision.

It took about
three seconds for the sound of the explosion to reach my location, and it was
brutally loud.  Loud enough to have a physical presence, vibrating the
organs in my chest and the fillings in my teeth.  A massive fireball was
forming, boiling into the dark sky and it was hard to tear my eyes off it and
check on the infected at the fence.  They weren’t all leaving, many still
with their heads raised and zeroed in on the noisy Black Hawk, but more were
turning to head west than were staying.

“Sam
one-niner, what the hell did you just shoot?”  I asked.

“Truck stop
along the Interstate,” the pilot chuckled in my ear.  “Couple of tanker
trucks were just sitting there begging for it.”

“It’s
working,” I said, appreciating the man’s sense of humor and trying not to think
about how much I wished it was Martinez at the controls.  “Think you can
repeat about a klick north?”

“Thought
you’d never ask, Dog.  Stand by.”

I fired
several more shots, putting females down permanently, then glanced over my
shoulder to check on the fuel delivery.  The large bladder, looking like a
fat amoeba, sat on the roof and two crewmen were unloading the last of several
reels of hose.  Tossing their burden onto the pile of equipment they’d already
deposited, they scrambled aboard the aircraft and a moment later it was
airborne.

Checking
with the rest of the team over the radio, I was surprised and pleased to find
there weren’t any other spots where the fence was failing.  And many of
the infected were moving away now that the helicopters were gone and there was
a very loud and visible distraction in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t
long before there was another flash of light to my right.  I was busily
engaged in shooting females who were charging across the parking lot, pausing
and looking up.  I had time to look back, target and drop another female
before the sound reached me.  This one, as impressive as it was, wasn’t on
par with the first.

“You’re
slipping, Sam one-niner,” I grinned into the radio as I pulled the trigger on
another runner.

“Propane
tank at an RV dealership,” he said.  “Want me to find something bigger?”

I could tell
by his voice that he was enjoying blowing shit up.  Hell, who
wouldn’t?  But we didn’t need to continue expending missiles and there was
a mission to complete.

“Negative,
but thanks for the assist.  Stay in the neighborhood in case the natives
get restless,” I said, shooting another female.

“Copy. 
Sam one-niner standing by.”

I swear, when
I told him to not shoot anything else, he almost sounded like a kid who just
had his favorite toy taken away.  For a moment I had a mental image of a
little boy standing in the dirt, looking down as he pouted and dug the toe of his
shoe into the ground. 

“Dog team,
let’s get busy,” I called on the radio.  “Three, come to my position and
take over.”

Dog three
was TJ.  Dutch had assured me the younger man was the best shot he’d ever
seen and I wanted him keeping the females knocked down as the rest of us worked
on getting the generators up and running.

Seconds
later the Ranger knelt down next to me, rifle up and a round going downrange
before he had even stopped moving.  A female climbing over the top of the
fence flipped backwards and landed in the slowly thinning throng.

“Showoff,” I
said.

He grinned
without looking up and began squeezing off fast shots.  Not hanging around
to see the results, I ran to where the team had already gathered around the
fuel bladder.

“Edwards,
kill the strobes,” I ordered as I grabbed a reel of hose and headed for the
north end of the roof.

I didn’t
want the strobes left on in case any Russian patrols happened to swing by to
check out the two brightly burning fires.  It was possible they’d pass
them off as something caused by the massive herd of infected.  But if they
saw IR strobes flashing away on the roof of a building, they wouldn’t have to
be the smartest of Ivans to figure out Americans were on the ground.

The reel of
hose was heavy and I was puffing with exertion by the time I reached the
northern edge of the roof.  Leaning out and looking down, I spotted two
giant generators fifty yards to my right.  Trotting to a spot directly
over them, I set my burden down and stuck my head over the low parapet. 
Dutch ran up behind me and dropped a coil of fifty feet of fuel line before
grabbing the end of the hose on my reel and dragging it back along the path to
the bladder.

With Chico
and Drago helping, he would get the hoses laid out and connected.  It just
so happened I was the most mechanically inclined of the group and had
responsibility for getting down to ground level to start the generators. 
That wasn’t necessarily a good thing.  I knew about enough to be
dangerous.

As Blanchard
and I were throwing this whole thing together in record time, I’d had the
thought that it would be good to have a diesel mechanic along for the
ride.  There’s plenty of them in the Army, trained to maintain all sorts
of heavy engines, but none had made the trip from the Bahamas.  Combat
troops and aircraft mechanics only. 

Shrugging out
of my pack, I looked around and spotted a large air conditioning unit a few
yards away.  It was really big and probably weighed well over a ton. 
Running to it, I secured a climbing rope to one of the steel struts that
anchored it to the roof, tugging hard to make sure it was secure. 
Returning to the edge, I tossed the coil over and watched it play out and slap
against the ground.

Next I
connected an end of the coiled fuel line Dutch had delivered to a port in the
center of the reel.  Slapping the connector until I was satisfied it was
seated properly, I stood and looked across the roof.  I could see the
three Rangers, along with Edwards, finishing hooking up the hoses. 

“Dog three,
one.  Status?”  I said into the radio as I waited.

“They’re
still coming over,” TJ answered and I heard two suppressed shots over the radio
as he spoke.  “Males have mostly pulled away to the diversions, but
females are still pressing in.”

“Copy,” I
said.  “Break.  Dog two, stay with three.  Everyone else on me.”

Dutch acknowledged
the order and a moment later I saw him run to TJ’s position as the others began
running across the roof to where I waited.  When they arrived, I told
Chico and Drago to watch the area as I pulled on my pack, picked up the rope
and backed up to the parapet. 

“What can I
do?”  Edwards asked, continuing to impress me.

“Feed the
fuel line to me when I tell you.  And stay glued to him and be safe,” I
said, nodding in Drago’s direction as I stepped over the edge and put my boots
against the exterior wall.

The rope was
tightly gripped in my hands and I began walking backwards down the vertical
surface.  Halfway to the ground, I paused and looked over my shoulder when
suppressed rifle fire sounded from the parapet above.  One of the Rangers,
I couldn’t tell which one, had taken out two females who were charging the
wall.  Glad they were keeping an eye out, I kept moving and stepped onto
the smooth concrete at ground level a few seconds later.

I was in a
large area that stuck out from the exterior of the building probably thirty
feet and was at least as wide.  An eight-foot chain link fence surrounded
it, protecting the equipment.  And me too, I thought as three females
slammed against the wire trying to reach me.  They were quickly put down
by my teammates and I forced myself to ignore them and focus on the task at
hand.

The two
generators were actually giant diesel engines bolted to the thick slab they
rested on.  Both were bright yellow, emblazoned with “Caterpillar” across
the smooth sheet metal that covered them.  Each was taller than me and ten
feet long.

Before I
bothered to spend time fueling the tanks I needed to make sure the motors would
start.  That meant finding an override panel on each to verify their
batteries hadn’t been drained.  The units were wired into the buildings
electrical supply from the local utility, equipped to detect a loss of power,
or a drop in voltage below a pre-determined threshold, from the grid.  If
that happened, they would automatically start and supply power until whatever
had caused the problem was resolved and electricity was flowing again.

There were
likely very large tanks buried beneath my feet that had kept them running for
some extended period of time.  Certainly long enough to bridge the gap
between loss and restoration of power.  But the grid hadn’t come back on
line.  That requires human intervention to make sure the few thousand
different things that go into supplying power to a city were all in working
order.  Without the power coming on, the generators had run until they
consumed all available fuel.

My hope was
that these were the more sophisticated units that also monitored the level of
diesel in the tank and shut the engine down before it completely ran dry and
air was sucked in by the fuel pumps.  If that happened, this wasn’t going
to be easy.  A diesel engine that has been run dry to that point can be a
bitch to restart.  It’s not like the gasoline engine in your car that all
you have to do is dump in some more and turn the key.

Moving
around the exterior of the closest generator, I forced myself to not get
distracted by the steady rate of fire from over my head.  I didn’t think the
fence had been breached, so where the hell were the infected coming from? 
I’d worry about that later.  First things first.

I finally
located the service panel on the opposite side.  It was secured with a
simple key lock and I forced it open with my Ka-Bar, slapping the door out of
my way.  Raising the night vision goggles off my face, I clicked on a
small light and peered at the panel.  It was a simple, touch screen
interface with a red and green button beneath, and I couldn’t figure out how to
get it to come on.

Touching the
screen didn’t bring it to life.  Pushing the buttons yielded the same
results.  Nothing.  I didn’t know if it was me doing something wrong
or a dead battery.  Running to the other generator, I forced the panel
open and had identical results.  Shit.  OK, at least we’d had the
foresight to bring a battery with us.

“Dog four,
Dog one.  I need power,” I said to Chico over the radio.

While he ran
back to where the helicopter had dropped our equipment, I began checking to see
if there was air in the line.  Finding the big fuel filter, I cracked open
the bleed valve, cursing when nothing happened.  Fuel should have come
out.

Digging some
tools out of my pack, I removed the fuel filter while I called Edwards on the
radio and told him to feed the line down to me.  Before I hooked up the
batteries and tried to start the engines, I needed to prime the system by
filling the filters.  Hopefully that would displace enough air for the
engines to start.  Placing the filter on the ground, I headed for the
other generator.

Taking a
moment, I lowered my night vision goggles and looked out across the parking
lot.  There were a large number of dead females scattered around the area,
taken down by the Rangers watching over me.  Unfortunately, there was an even
larger number coming in my direction.  Shit on a stick, where were they
coming from?  

I didn’t
have time to worry about it.  Had to trust the rifles above, and fence
around the area, to keep me safe.  Quickly I removed the other fuel filter
and snatched the line off the ground.  Cracking open the valve on the end,
I had to wait for diesel to flow from the bladder on the far side of the
roof.  It took a while, the volume of infected increasing as I fought my
impatience.

Females were
slamming against the fence and their numbers continued to grow.  Drago was
forced to stop engaging them as they approached, spending all his time just
knocking down the ones that were trying to scale the barrier that was keeping
me alive. 

“Battery
coming down.”

I looked up
when I heard Chico’s voice in my earpiece.  A large battery taken from a
damaged Hummer was being lowered at the end of a rope.  Turning my
attention back to the task at hand, I was relieved when thick fuel began
running out of the line and into the open end of the filter.  It filled
quickly and I closed the valve and reinstalled it.  Running to the other
unit I repeated the process.

I spent
several precious minutes looking for the fuel tank, not spotting it. 
Where the hell would they have put it?  Then a bad thought hit me. 
They probably wouldn’t want to have to open up the secure area where the
generators were located every time they received a fuel delivery.  Raising
the goggles, I turned the flashlight back on and began searching for the filling
point.

When I
spotted it, I muttered a string of curses.  A long pipe, secured to the
wall, stuck up out of the ground ten feet outside the fence.  Fuck
me.  There were about fifty females in the immediate area and I didn’t
think they would let me just stroll out and stick the fuel line in the filler
tube.